


Guiding Light

by florelflowers



Category: Banana Bus Squad
Genre: Childhood Friends, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, like really really tiny, the tiniest amount of angst, this is honestly just fluff, with like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-31
Updated: 2018-08-31
Packaged: 2019-07-05 03:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15855486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/florelflowers/pseuds/florelflowers
Summary: John and Smitty are childhood friends and this is how they fall in love in ten snapshots





	Guiding Light

 

One has just turned two, and the other barely born hours earlier when they meet. John curiously eyes the bed and the woman laying on it, watching her watery smile as she stares wide-eyed at something so tiny John fears she’s crushing whatever it is.

“Be careful,” he says without really meaning to, or understanding why but the small thing wrapped in blankets makes a noise, and John takes it as a _‘thank you’._

There’s a soft laugh, followed by “oh, dear,” and John turns his gaze back toward the lady he always forgets the name of. She still sits on the bed, but now her attention is on John, and she stares with an expression on her face that makes him feel oddly embarrassed. Her eyes flicker somewhere past his head, and she smiles, “I guess our worries were for nothing, huh? I get the feeling they’re going to become great friends after all.”

A hand cards through John’s hair and he relaxes against it, smiling as the voice of his mom comes from high above him, “I think it would’ve happened one way or another. We see each other so much they’d be forced to get along whether they liked it or not. But,” she murmurs, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to John’s temple, smiling fondly at his giggle, “I’m happy it starts like this.”

In the moment, wrapped around his mom and surrounded by the quiet hum of the tv in the background, with soft noises emitting from the covered bundle perched in rocking arms, he doesn’t know what those words mean. They make no sense to him and he doesn’t really care to know, either. All he knows is that apparently he’s going to be seeing the small thing - _baby -_ his mother told him, from now on, and he thinks, quietly and to himself: _hurry and get bigger please, I want to have a friend._

 

**

 

Popular movies say John should be chasing after girls by now. He’s in middle school, he’s _fourteen_ and puberty has long since started. But he ignores those who sit too close at lunch, who walk with him through the hallways and giggle when he glances at them. _She’s pretty,_ he’ll often think, but his mind doesn’t ever go beyond that.

Like art.

John looks and says _“yeah, she’s cute”_ because cute things deserve to be called cute. But dogs are cute, and so is the old lady who lives next door and talks about her son miles away. He doesn’t want to date any of those things, though, and he certainly doesn’t want to go on dates and share his lunch with them.

He already hangs out with someone more than he should, already buys snacks for more than one person, and already has his attention stolen and greedily sucked up by a goofy childhood friend.

“What about Jess?” John looks to where the boy is pointing, squinting his eyes through the crowd in the hall. Her hair is long, brown and wavy. She’s surrounded by too many people and her smile is just on the side of forced.

John shrugs, “She’s pretty,” he says for what feels like the hundredth time, “But I’m not interested.”

The boy opens his mouth with furrowed eyebrows pinched together, looking offended for both the girl and himself. But then there’s a loud _“John!”_ from behind them and they turn, seeing a small boy with the widest grin on his face running their way and instantly John forgets all about the previous conversation.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Where have you been? I told you to wait for me after class.”

He laughs at the tiny pout, and smiles when there’s a gripe and hand swatting his finger away when he reaches out to poke it.

“Sorry Smit, I guess I forgot.”  

John snickers at the jab to his side, how Smitty puffs his cheeks in irritation as he says, “How could you forget? I’m your best friend, _b-e-s-t_ friend! That means you’re not allowed to forget about me!”

Girls are pretty, and he would probably be called cool if he dated one of them, but he walks away; Smitty is right next to him, always, and together they leave the stunned boy behind.

He’s fourteen and gets called lame, for still hanging out with a kid two years younger, but Smitty’s clingy and demands John’s undivided attention anyways, so he figures getting a girlfriend can be on hold for a while.

 

**

 

It’s hot and sticky outside when he mutters the words, “I don’t want a girlfriend, not ever.”

The summer air is warm, and he stretches his legs out on the grass he lays on, staring up at the dark sky above. He briefly imagines what the stars look like, if he could see constellations even from here, down on Earth. He’s read it’s possible - he stares and stares and stares, thinking: _let me see._

There’s nothing but clouds and movement to his right, as Smitty sits up to frown down at him.

“What? Why? _Everyone_ wants a girlfriend.”

The skin between his eyebrows is wrinkled in confusion and John gets the sudden urge to smooth it out with his finger, but he keeps his hands behind his head and refuses to meet his friends eyes.

“Well I’m saying I don’t. What’s the big deal?”

He watches as Smitty wraps his arms around his legs, staring intently at the grass he plucks. His hair looks tangled, like on mornings after they’ve spent the night together and shared the bed because Smitty always asks, and John never says no.

Curled up like that, it’s easy to see just how _small_ Smitty is. That’s wrong, though, because Smitty isn’t small for his age, John is just older.

“I dunno,” he finally mutters, but then just as quickly spins around to face John and yell, “But it’s weird, right? To say that.”

_It is. It is. It is._

John huffs, irritated from Smitty’s persistence.

“Why?” _Say it’s okay._ “Why is it weird to want to be alone?”

He doesn’t say these thoughts started one week ago when a boy in his class dragged him behind the school gym and kissed him - _“it was a dare!” -_ he had screamed in John’s face, looking both horrified and embarrassed.

He doesn’t say he went home thinking about that kiss and how it hadn’t felt so bad, how he wanted it to happen _again,_ except maybe with a boy who wasn’t doing it because they were forced to.

“You’re not alone,” Smitty finally whispers after such a long stretch of silence. John breathes a sigh of relief, before it feels like the air is stolen right back when Smitty lifts his head off his knees and smiles around the words, “You’ve got me, jerk.”

 

**

 

He’s alone for the first time during his freshman year of high school and it’s _not right._ Not right at all. There’s a presence missing by his side. A space that should be filled during lunch, and when he walks home from school. The missing piece has only just started seventh grade, though, and John thinks maybe _this_ is weird.

Smitty is thirteen and John is fifteen. Smitty is a kid and John needs to let go already. He needs to make friends his age instead of hanging out with someone younger than him on the weekends, having sleepovers as if they’re still children.

 _But I am a child,_ he thinks miserably. He’s certainly not an adult, and it shouldn’t matter if his best friend is two years younger; Smitty has been by his side for his whole life. Except now.

He doesn’t know what to do.

 

**

 

John makes new friends. They’re loud and touchy and always want to hang out; they fill a void John pretends isn’t there.

 _It’s not the same._ He’ll often think, followed by: _It never will be,_ and finally, _But that’s okay._

None of them are a small spitfire who yells too much and cries at horror movies. They weren’t there at his tenth birthday, didn’t see him break his arm from flying off a swing too fast and high, and they didn’t help him afterwards with ice cream as a distraction.

But they’re funny, and do a great job of helping him keep his mind off things. They’ll be a part of his new memories, like going to the movies alone now that he’s old enough. Like learning to drive and laughing over their nerves and terrified expressions.

It’s not the same, but it’s enough. So he ignores the messages on his phone until they stop, and shrugs when his mom asks over dinner, “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Smitty come by, are you guys okay?”

Her stare is hard and unwavering; John knows she’s really saying, _Call him._

His friends are there, though, and he gets out of having to answer when they start to compliment her cooking.

Later, when they’re playing video games and making stupid jokes, Tyler asks, “Who’s Smitty? Your mom keeps mentioning him.”

Years later he’ll be ashamed of how easy it was to answer, how there was almost no guilt in his words. He’ll whisper apologies against smooth skin, though the other won’t understand why, because John will never tell, but he’ll make up for it. Always.

Right now, though, this is his reply:

“Just an old friend.”

 

**

 

He gets his first boyfriend when he’s sixteen.

Cameron is funny and holds his hand in front of everyone and, most of all, he makes John happy. He teaches John how to not care, to enjoy life effortlessly and without worry. The constant fear of what others think of him no longer exists. He lives the life he wants to and does so confidently.

He finally gets kissed right, and it’s better - _infinitely_ \- better, than the swift and quick one years ago behind that smelly gym. Cam tastes like mint, his hands make a home in John’s hair, and he thinks, constantly, _it’s enough._ More than enough.

They’re both dumb and sixteen, but they work- together. It’s a learning experience, and they discover all about the wonders of having a first love.

Like when John suddenly announces one night, “I’m going to start painting my nails.” And it’s a statement because he’s not asking for permission, or if it’s _weird._

Cam looks up from his phone, head almost touching the ground from laying upside down on John’s bed, and only says, “Okay” with a smile on his face.

John doesn’t bother hiding his grin, instead grabs Cam’s hand and is reminded that, for the time being, things are more than enough and he is undeniably happy.

They break things off the summer leading into junior year, but John will tote around his carefree attitude for the rest of his life, and remember Cam and their short romance, while continuously saying: _thank you. Thank you._

 

**

 

Two years have passed since they’ve last seen each other. Days, and weeks and months of separation have put a distance between them larger than the few short miles that separate their houses. But John would recognize Smitty anywhere, no matter how much time has gone by.

It’s cliche and horrible and shouldn’t happen at school, of all places, but it does and they take it as it is.

John sees him first - Smitty always was the lighthouse to his ship lost at sea - and he freezes, feeling people walk around him and carry on, unaware of the sheer _panic_ coursing through his veins.

Smitty looks older. His hair is shorter, more tamed but dancing on the edge between styled and possible bedhead. He’s grown taller, but even from down the hall John can tell he still has the height advantage. Although Smitty’s face has matured slightly, he’s still only fifteen and it’s evident in the baby fat that barely hangs there, not quite gone but getting closer to finally chiseling out.

He’s smiling and John is suddenly reminded of years when that same look was directed at him; everything comes rushing back too fast and too soon and he wants to _leave._ But he stands still, eyes wide and mouth open, torn between calling out and keeping quiet.

John counts to thirty in his head before Smitty glances over and everything just - stops. He can pinpoint the exact moment the other truly _sees_ who’s standing there; his eyes widen comically and John barely registers the mouthed words, _“Holy”_ before his lips snap shut and he hurriedly walks forward, calling out,

“John?”

He has _so much_ to say.

_How are you? Tell me about everything that’s happened. I missed you._

But he’s the one who left, who ignored and pushed and he can’t say any of that.

“Hi.” Is all he gets out and he repeats _stupid_ in his head until Smitty is _there_ in front of him, hands shoved in pockets.

Smitty’s eyes dance all around John; they travel over his newly bleached hair, the chipped polish on his nails, the torn jeans he wears. At that, Smitty’s mouth quirks just the slightest, and John knows he’s thinking, _“how funny”_ considering John would’ve scoffed at himself years earlier, as an immature kid who wanted to appear perfect for everyone around him.

Finally, their eyes meet, and Smitty lifts a shoulder, huffs, “It’s been a long time.”

Two years must seem like forever when your best friend randomly leaves, without so much as a reason or explanation. John hates himself more and more as the seconds tick by, as the bell chimes and Smitty turns to leave, before he reacts solely on instinct and reaches out.

“Wait,” he breathes, gripping Smitty’s arm and looking helplessly lost because he doesn’t know what he’s doing but he _knows_ he needs to say, “I’m sorry” at the very least.

“I’m sorry,” John repeats again, trying to put everything he wants to say into those words, hoping Smitty understands everything currently left unsaid.

“I’m so sorry.”

Smitty blinks at him, face void of emotions and John is terrified.

“You know,” Smitty says slowly, lowering his eyes to look at the floor with the sort of intensity John used to hate, but now realizes he missed more than anything, “I used to say you weren’t allowed to forget about me because I was your best friend, but you did anyways.”

“I’m sorry,” John repeats more urgently, frustration edging its way inside his voice, “It was stupid of me and I’m the worst best friend on the planet but I won’t do that ever, ever again.”

Smitty side-eyes him for a long moment, the silence between them stretching until John thinks he’s going to snap with it, before finally, _finally,_ the smallest smile lights up Smitty’s face. He lifts his head, rolls his eyes exasperatedly and John sags in relief.

“I could never stay mad at you for too long.”

 _I want you to,_ John thinks, _You deserve to be mad._ But he’s so, so relieved and maybe it’s selfish of him to wish that Smitty always be this forgiving, but if two years have taught him anything, it’s that he never wants to lose his friend ever again.

“Although,” Smitty keeps going, eyes lighting up in a challenge, “I hope you don’t think you get to call yourself my best friend like old times. I can’t let you off _that_ easily.”

“That’s okay,” John says and believes it wholeheartedly, “We’ll get there again.”

It’s a promise.

 

**

 

Like with all things new, trying to become best friends again is a learning process. They’re different, they’ve grown, and now they need to learn how to grow together once more.

John still has his friends, and Smitty introduces him to the ones he made in John’s absence. He gets jealous over how close they all appear, how familiar one of them, Craig, seems to be with Smitty. The boy reminds John of how him and Smitty used to be and it hurts, but he understands.

Life doesn’t stop, not even for someone leaving unexpectedly, so he tries his hardest to show that he _is_ there and he’s not going anywhere. It’s difficult, of course, especially when Smitty goes to visit John for the first time in over two years and John says he bought strawberry ice cream because it’s Smitty’s favorite.

Only for Smitty to wince, to rub at his neck and awkwardly look away with a sheepish smile, “Sorry. I actually really hate strawberry now, but thanks for remembering.”

And it’s bizarre and feels wrong to not know something so small, like what flavor ice cream Smitty likes, but he reminds himself: _it’s been two years._ They have changed. The Smitty that stands before him isn’t the Smitty he used to know.

730 days have gone by without John so much as talking to Smitty; the past is nothing but a fond memory.

“Right,” he says laughing, because yeah, he knows nothing but it’ll be fun, to learn everything again. “Okay, my bad. I’ll remember that for next time.”

“By the way,” Smitty asks as they head upstairs, throwing a cheeky smile over his shoulder at John, “Do you still cry watching cat videos?”

 

**

 

It’s embarrassing how long it takes for John to catch onto his own feelings.

The thing is, John and Smitty have been friends for _so_ long that he should’ve seen it coming. He cares about Smitty more than anyone else, yearns to be around him at all times, and in a crowd full of people, John finds himself searching for the dorky boy who can make his heart beat wildly, and in the same breath, calm on command.

Instead the realization hits him at six pm on a Saturday night.

He’s in a scratchy suit that he tugs at every once in a while, wishing things would just _hurry up._ It’s annoyingly windy outside and though the sun is already setting, it’s darker than usual, as if it could rain at any second. But John’s eyes never leave the stage because suddenly Smitty’s name is being called, and, in an agonizing slow second - between Smitty walking across the stage to grab his diploma, and the cheers that erupt from the friends sitting with him - John thinks: _he’s beautiful._

It should terrify him; this is _Smitty,_ the most precious person in his life. But - it’s Smitty, the boy he’s been following after for twenty years now.

John thinks he’s probably been in love for a while.

He understands now, too, the knowing looks their friends give them when afterwards Smitty comes running, hand tightly gripping the cap still on his head, smile wide and breathtaking and solely aimed at _John._

“I did it!” Smitty yells, throwing himself at John because he knows he’ll be catched.

 _I’m in love,_ John muses as he grips thighs wrapped around his waist, and again as Smitty encircles his arms around John’s head, bringing their foreheads together with his blinding smiling never faltering.

And probably not for the first time, John _wants._ With Smitty’s face so close to his, he decides there’s no time for hesitation or second guesses because Smitty is there, in his arms, and John aches to have him close, closer.

Their first kiss is messy and awkward; both too surprised and eager to do anything other than just smash their lips together with a giddiness that screams _finally._

John pulls back first, laughing breathily as Smitty tries to follow after his retreating mouth.

“Is this okay?” He asks, out of breath and restraining himself from swooping back in to capture the lips Smitty licks at.

His eyes flit back up when the other takes a while to respond, and frowns in concern when he sees Smitty’s face scrunched up, eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Wha-”

“Idiot,” Smitty interrupts hoarsely, shoving his face into the crook of John’s neck. He’s about to ask for clarification when he hears the muffled words spoken against his skin, “I’ve wanted this for _years.”_

Oh. “Years?”

Smitty pulls away, sniffling and pouting, “Yeah, years. You got a problem with that?”

John shakes his head, mirroring the smile slowly spreading on Smitty’s face, “No. Never.”

It’s a bit silly, how long this took, but when Smitty only rolls his eyes and surges forward for another kiss, John doesn’t mind the minor detours they took along the way.

They’re here, now. Together.

 

**

 

“I don’t get it,” Smitty huffs in exasperation, sticking his tongue out when John groans. His skin glows with a fresh tan after spending weeks at the beach, and his hair looks ready to start housing birds, but John smiles fondly around the smoothie he takes his time drinking. “What do you have against the color purple?”

“It’s a couch! Who even _wants_ a purple one in their living room?”

“Me!” Smitty yells, throwing his hands up and because they’re still holding hands, John’s goes flying up with Smitty’s. He gripes as it throws him off balance and nearly makes him drop his drink.

 _“Us,”_ Smitty continues, ignoring John’s muttered complaints, “If you would just say yes.”

They’ve been bickering about the possibility of a purple couch for over a week now, John having given up three days ago but dragging it out because, well, Smitty’s cute when he’s stomping his feet in agitation and glaring in the ‘angry puppy’ kind of way.

He takes a long sip of the fruit smoothie, humming and pretending to ponder while Smitty stares expectantly, eyes big and hopeful. Honestly, how could he ever say no when Smitty looks at him like that?

“Fine,” he relents, grinning at the loud cheer and soft lips pecking all over his cheek, “But this means I get to pick out the bed _and_ coffee table.”

Smitty falters for just a second before his smile is back tenfold and he hops in place, nodding vigorously, “Deal! As long as I get my purple couch I’m happy.”

And that’s all John needs to hear, really, because Smitty’s happiness is his own.

They climb the steps up the lofty apartment building, fingers linked and hearts beating in sync. It took a long time to get here - the journey full of distracting obstacles and childish pride they’ve since grown out of - but, when John glances over at Smitty, as they stand in the entryway and eye all the unpacked boxes, he thinks, unabashedly: _it was always going to be you._

They’ve been connected, intertwined tightly from the beginning all those years ago in that hospital room. It doesn’t matter if John was the one who strayed off that path, who took the long way around, because Smitty was the beacon John would always find his way back to.

“Are you ready?” He asks, the question going deeper than those cardboard boxes they’ve been piling in their apartment since they got the key. Huh, their apartment. He smiles, giddy and elated and hopelessly in love.

Smitty squeezes his hand before stepping forward, pass the threshold, and John follows. Forever.

“I was born ready.”

 _Me too,_ John’s heart whispers.

Since the beginning, now eternally.

**Author's Note:**

> It's been three months but I've crawled out of my nest (*bed*) to write this :D 
> 
> My Tumblr: [Etherealvibespls](https://etherealvibespls.tumblr.com) if you wanna chat or read more stories that aren't posted on here!


End file.
